


Untitled

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Chapters are Oneshots, Drabbles, Human AU, Humanized, Karkat was Previously Homeless, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Subways, Urban AU (Sort Of), city
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In which Karkat contemplates his life after he escapes from his imprisonment as a boy growing up homeless." Series of oneshots within a New York City type-setting, mostly little drabbles under the theme "There's Always Been Something." SolKat for the most part, might include others in the future. Subways will be a main theme, as will KK's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Karkat Contemplates Subways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Karkat Vantas contemplates how much he owes to the subway that cuts through the greatly urbanized city of Skaia. If it makes no sense, it's because it doesn't.

There's always been something about the subway. There's always been something about the graffitied walls and grimy seats; the florescent lights and the ice-cold rails; the rickety shaking of the floor as the vehicle scrapes over its pre-assigned tracks. I don't mind the scent of smelly socks and cigarettes, nor the trash-littered aisleways. I don't mind the creepy old ladies wearing too much perfume, or the twelve-year olds sneaking their hands into people's pockets, or even the occasional druggie hiding in a far corner of the blue plastic seats. I don't mind the long trip from my home on the edge of the city to my college downtown. Hell, I don't even mind how early I have to get up to catch it, because the subway has always meant something more than the free trip, more than the free-access to the rest of the city. To me, the subway has always meant _escape._

I grew up stone-cold poor, and was homeless for more than half the time, so I moved around a lot, but my family always migrated back to the subway. We always came back to the filthy stations and even filthier platforms. We always came back to the cement tunnels, back to the stone bridges and dirty tiled walkways, because that was all we ever knew. I grew up with the sound of the subway flying by as my lullaby, the ever-present rumble of people's voices lulling me to sleep every night.

My mother used to say everything starts and ends at the subway, and everyone in Skaia crossed paths with the subway at least once a day. I don't doubt that for a fucking second, and will quite happily tell you I "cross paths" with the subway many more times than I can count. After all, I owe my life to it.

A big metal machine is a funny thing to owe your life to, and people laugh at me when I say it's what got me to college. Truthfully, it did more than that. If I hadn't stood up from my home under cardboard boxes and walked onto the subway four years ago, I wouldn't be where I am today. As cheesy as that sounds, it's all true. If I hadn't had the subway, I'd be withering away in a coffin of cement too many people have marked as their own. I'd be just a homeless bum you pass on the streets instead of the youngest student to graduate from Skaia International Academy.

I wouldn't have a laptop in the bag strapped over my shoulder right now, I wouldn't have a wallet tucked into my pocket, I wouldn't be riding this subway to meet my best friend and boyfriend. Hell, I wouldn't be considering I want to be more than that.

If I hadn't stepped onto that subway, with its cigarette smoke and pick pocketing children, with its old lady perfume and graffitied walls, I wouldn't be stepping off of it today with a velvet box in my pocket and a trot in my walk.

I was given new life by the subway, and this is just the beginning of another.


	2. In Which Karkat Contemplates Sollux

There's always been something about the way he walks. About the sway in his hips that he doesn't know is there. His hands are always tucked deep into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed and lazy. His open button-ups always catch the breeze, tugging at the fabric of his t-shirts. Perched on his nose are the ever-present bicolored glasses that hide his heterochromatic irises, and in his left ear in the tiny silver stud, engraved with the letters K and S.

There's always been something about his smirk. About the one that perks up the corners of his perfect lips, the one that is reserved for a pair of red eyes, and for those eyes alone. To most people, they wouldn't see the difference between it and his usual one. But I see it. There, in the way his bottom lip shifts to the side, just barely, and the slight crinkle by his eyes that tells me he isn't about to launch into a snarky teasing fest. No, this one in sincere, purposeful, endearing. Meant to say he cares.

There's always been something about his fingers. About the difference in the way they glide over his keyboard, and the way they glide over my cheek. There's something about the way they can lace loosely into my hair, and keep me there with no force. His fingers can map more of me than I can, and just by brushing my jaw can they leave me breathless.

There's always been something about his voice. About its gravely overtones, and hidden, sweeter ones. There's something about the way he can chir into my ear, and make me forget everything I'm about to say in an argument. His voice can send shudders up my spine, or make me want to yell at him to shut up. There's always been something about his voice when it's just the two of us, and when there's just one, whispering over the phone. There's something addictive about his voice, his lisp, always keeping me coming back for more.

There's always been something about his eyes. About his clashing over fire and ocean. How he can stare at me, locking our gazes, and call me to him easier than a dog to its master. How with one look he can tell me everything he's about to say. Sometimes, I wonder who knows who better.

There's now something about the new gold band, tucked tightly around the fourth finger on his left hand. There's something about the promise inlaid there, etched into the metal like his life has been etched into mine. There's something about the vows spoken in hopes we never have to let each other go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, I kind of like how this came out, though it's far from what I wanted it to be. Oh well. I hope you guys enjoy?
> 
> ~Webs


End file.
